


Deprived of freedom

by GreyWeeknds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyWeeknds/pseuds/GreyWeeknds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ireland is a colony to the great kingdom England, and rich families in the UK buy slaves from Ireland.</p><p>When Mr and Mrs Styles buy the Irish boy Niall Horan, he’s scared and lost. He misses his mum, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to survive without her.</p><p>It turns out to be a hell. The mother lets him go hungry all day when she’s displeased on him, and the father hits him whenever he gets the chance. </p><p>But then there’s the son, Harry. He doesn’t acknowledge him when the rest of the family is around, but when they’re alone; he sneaks out food from the kitchen, and patches him.</p><p>It doesn’t take much time for him to fall in love, but is his feelings returned?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deprived of freedom

“Eight year old boy and just transferred from the town Mullingar in Ireland, he’s a household slave and pretty cheap too!” the fat little man that’s standing on a wooden box shouts, holding his hands around his mouth as he points at the boy with the protruding shoulders.

The hubby is wearing a monocle and a top hat, grey and black striped blazer, and a thick white moustache under his big round nose. He’s got a voice that beams through the entire neighbourhood when he speaks, and there’s something about him that tells Niall that he’s a man with great power.

There’s not a soul that makes a sound, and Niall looks down at his naked feet on the ground, feeling the burn mark on his chest, as he sighs silently.

He’s ashamed that no one wants to buy him, even though he’s complete useless; there must be something that he can do.

The other slaves have told him stories about what happens to those who no one buys. They’re thrown into jail, and when they’re so thin that the can break by a human touch, the police stabs them right into their heart wife a dagger.

The thought makes him shudder; he’s too young to die. He’s not ready to meet his mother up in heaven yet; there are too many things in life that he wants to experience.

One of the guards is tugging at the rope that is tied around Niall’s wrists and he can feel thousands of eyes that are directed at his almost naked body. His fingers are dirty from before when he had to dig up some coins from the ground to the hubby, and his knees still hurts.

“We’ll take him then if there’s no one else that wants him.” An annoyed woman says as she examines his body with her eyes. “But I won’t pay more than 15 pounds for him, he’s just a walking skeleton for God’s sake!”

“It’s a deal then!” the round man shouts again, throwing his fist on the table as Niall is pushed roughly forward to the young lady, almost falling over his own feet.

The guards remove the rope, and there’s a nice feeling that travels from his wrist, out to the fingers. It’s the blood that’s circling again after he’s been tied for days, and he wants to praise the kind woman for offering her home to him. But he’s wrong, she’s not kind, not even the slightest.

She brushes away the blond hair that’s fallen in front of his eyes with her silk glove, but it’s not a gentle touch. Despite her lack of words, Niall already knows that she doesn’t care for him, that the life at the Styles household won’t be as voluptuous as he first thought it would be.

“When we come home, you can begin washing the laundry, boy.” She hisses as she pinches his ears with her long painted nails.

She doesn’t even bother to ask him for his name, and he has to run after her as she almost floats forward, her purple dress dragging on the dirty ground.

The woman is quite beautiful to be honest, even though her inside is terrible. Hazel locks and two mesmerizing green eyes, almost fooling him that she’s a nice person. She’s got a tiny waist, who is drawn in by a corset, and she holds a cane as she stacks forward with force. Her face is almost hidden by a giant hat with flowers onto it, the same colour as the draped dress.

“I’ve got a son in the same age as you, so I don’t want you to try to beat some stupid ideas into his head.”

When he’s pushed into the carriage that the horses drives forward, he’s forced to sit on the cold floor and polish her expensive leather shoes. The young brunette that’s sitting beside the woman in the family doesn’t even acknowledge him; instead he continues to read the thick book in his hand.

But Niall notices him. He’s got a matching pair of eyes like his mother, but in some way his glows. They’re like tiny fireflies captured into a forest, and his brown curls looks a lot softer than hers.

He’s wearing knee high socks and a pair of navy-coloured shorts. Under his chin there’s a red bowtie, and on his head he’s wearing a silly striped hat.

Niall wants to say hello, to ask for his name. But he doesn’t, and whenever he feels the cane’s being whipped over his bare back, a yelp escapes his tiny lips, and a silent tear falls down his cheek.

He can feel the green eyes are boring into his scalp over the edge of the book. Even though he knows that the brunette is in fact watching him, he tries to ignore it. Because the mother seems to be very irritated every time she notices that the boys make eye contact, so she hits him even harder when they do.

-

When they arrive at the house, he realizes that it’s not really a house. It’s a great mansion, and it takes his breath away when he sees how the sky looks even bluer here than everywhere else, and the sun shine a tad brighter.

It’s like this is some kind of magical paradise, despite the fact that he’s a working slave for the family that lives here.

The cranes are made of gold, and in every room, there’s a crystal lamp. He wonders how they ever got the opportunity to earn this great amount of money, because this isn’t the slightest similar to his own parent’s house in Ireland. Their nails aren’t even dirty for crying out loud!

He gets to know that there’s only a mother, father and a son. He doesn’t even bother to ask whom the girl in the pictures is, because at the back of the garden, there’s a memorial stone where the name Gemma is engraved into it.

The mother isn’t actually the worst one; in fact it’s the father. Even when Niall isn’t even doing a single fault, he slaps his bum and punishes him. Sometimes he doesn’t get to see the sunlight in over a week, locked into a small empty cupboard, and the only food that he gets is bread and soup at the nights when he can’t disturb the family by his ‘barbaric way of eating’.

Niall has comprehended that he doesn’t actually eat any differently from the family, but it’s just his entire existence that bugs them. They don’t like the way he talks, how he moves, how he never puts on any weight (which Niall thinks is absurd, because he’s almost starving from hunger). The only reason why they don’t like him is because he’s Irish.

He remembers that before his mum passed away, she told him that Ireland is a colony to England. That the British doesn’t like people like him and his mum. It doesn’t even matter if they’re gifts sent from God; they’re always going to be dirt under their shoes when it all comes down to it.

The only one person in the household that doesn’t seem to despise him is the other boy. When the rest of the family are around, he ignores Niall’s whole presence, but when it’s only the two of them, he sneaks out food from the kitchen.

It’s a lot different from the bread and soup that he gets from the mother; it’s pork with baked potatoes, pickled onions with melted sugar on them, burned sparrows and many other delicates. Sometimes he even gets a drop of the red wine that Harry steals from Des’ cabin behind the great curtain, and he feels a tad odd when he tastes it.

Harry doesn’t actually say much; instead he listens to Niall. He cares about what he has on his mind, and when the blonde is really down, he brushes his fingertips against Niall’s.

He likes the idea of them being friends in secret. Holding hands and having a language that’s entirely their own that no one else understands. It’s wonderful to always have him light up his days whenever he’s at his lowest, bruises covering his body, as he stumbles painfully forward.

It sometimes even happens that Harry offers him to lie beside him under the tailor-made duvet in his bed. Niall has to promise him to disappear before his mother wakes up, and in some miraculous way, he always keeps the promise.

Harry’s arms are whirled around his waist, as he tells him stories about his dead sister. Apparently she died in a disease when Harry was six years old, and ever since then, his father started to drink. He can’t believe it when he tells him that Anne used to be a very nice person, caring about the underdogs as she gave them food when no one noticed.

But he knows that Harry would not lie to him looking directly into his face, he’s too good of a person to do so.

He buries his fingers into the blond hair, nuzzling it, as he listens to the older boy’s breaths. When it’s just the two of them, the rest of the world doesn’t matter, and it’s only them in each other’s arms that are important. When they fall asleep, their hearts beats as one, and Niall likes to think that they were soul mates looking for each other.

-

The life there never really changes at the Styles mansion. The fountain outside is still pouring pure and untouched water, and the bushes are cut prettily and sculpted to animals. When he turns sixteen, he’s still forced to wear the same servant clothing that he wore when he first arrived, and they’re a tad too small now.

Harry continues to treat him like air when his mother or father is in the same room as them, but whenever they’re not, he sneaks a squeeze on Niall’s shoulder while he whispers that everything is going to be okay soon. That when he takes over the household, he’s going to release Niall into freedom.

But the thing is, he doesn’t want to be released from Harry.

He knows that it’s a sin, but he can’t stop his heart beating rapidly every time their eyes melts like butter in the sun with each other. He can’t even imagine a life without Harry, patching his wounds that the old man is the cause of at the nights, as the stars weigh heavily on their shoulders.

Blowing the air from his lips on them, telling him that it fastens the healing progress. He’s so genuine and caring, so Niall can’t help it that he falls in love with him more and more for each day that goes.

Harry’s been growing up to this young and beautiful man. Eyes even more glowing than ever, with two big and firm hands that are patting him whenever Niall falls into his arms, sobbing loudly. He’s very tall, and underneath his clothes, he’s muscular. He knows, because sometimes he hides behind the door to sneak a glance of his naked body when he changes to his nightwear.

-

It’s summer when he first kisses him; a hot day in July, and they’re sitting beside the lake in the shadow under the big oak. Niall is resting between his legs, Harry’s warm arms around his stomach, as he reads the letters from his book that Niall can’t understand what it’s saying.

He’s fascinated over how his eyes trails over the pages, knowing the exact words that it’s saying, as he speaks it out loud. He’s been telling Niall for ages now that he’s going to teach him some day how to read, but there seems to always come something in the way before he gets time to do so. But he’s okay with that, because he loves it when he reads bedtime stories to him, and he would rather stay in his lap than to read it himself.

Harry is telling him a tale about a knight in shining armour who’s fighting against a dangerous dragon in the early 1300th century, to save his princess.

To be completely honest, Niall stopped listening after the first five minutes. Instead he’s been enjoying watching the pink lips moving whenever he pronounces a word, wetting them when they gets dry, and letting the tip of his tongue fall out just a little bit between them.

He furrows his eyes when he reads something in the book that he finds amusing, and he breaks out into a wide smile when there happens something that he likes.

Before he even understands it himself, his lips are glued to Harry’s. His nose is pressed against Harry’s, and it hurts a bit when he moves his mouth. It doesn’t feel that good like it did in his dreams, instead it’s awkward and cold, and the strain of saliva between their lips is cut in half when he meets two watery emerald orbs.

The air is like ice the moment that he breaks away. The taller lad’s breaths are irregular as he stares terrified at Niall, pushing away his body from his, so that he gets grass stains on the fabric of his clothes.

When he comes home later that day, the belt beats him and the hairy fist scrunches his nose. But it doesn’t even remotely hurts as much as whenever he tries to connect his eyes with Harry’s, he avoids his gaze.

-

It takes him three months until he dares to utter a single sentence to Harry. He’s pouring up milk to him, and he mouths a quick ‘Can you hand me your glass please, Sir?’

He can feel the green eyes are etching into his skin as he pushes the glass forward carefully. He blushes fiercely as he hands him over it again, filled with the cold milk from the cow that he milked it from this morning.

Harry mouths a ‘thanks’ back, before his gaze falls onto the table.

In some way he should be grateful over that he never told his parents about the kiss, but it’s probably because he’s too ashamed. Niall would too if he would have been in the younger bloke’s shoes. His slave, dirty and worthless, is pressing his own mouth against his lord. It’s no wonder that he he’s been avoiding him ever since.

When he’s on his way to go away, he feels Harry’s fingers are curled around his wrist before he whispers: “Meet me at midnight beside the lake, don’t come late, and be unnoticed.”

-

He does as he’s told; he’s even being there an hour early. Niall’s already done with all his chores, and he can’t wait to hear what the other lad has to say to him. He’s both scared and eager, afraid of what it means, excited of it its consequences.

The moon lights up a figure that walks over the meadow, grasshoppers singing in the swamps, as the branches from the oak dances with the wind seductively.

His body is pressed down into the grass as he feels Harry’s body on top of his, and for a second he’s scared that the teen is going to hit him for his horrible crime. Before the green-eyed was the face of the calm and peace in his life, but now he’s not so sure anymore.

“Sir, y-you’re h-hurting me.” He stammers. “What on e-earth are you d-doing?”

“It’s you and me Ni, you and me against the dark cruel world.”

He can’t think about what it means before he feels two wet lips that’s are pressed on his neck, sucking and licking it. His hands are griping Niall’s hips, and he squirms under his touch. He can’t help himself; it feels to good to be real.

“Sir, what are you doing?” he repeats, this time with his voice a lot stronger.

“I’m showing you that you’re not the only one that feels it.”

“Feels what?” Niall wonders, because he knows what he means, but to afraid to admit it out loud.

“This thing, between us. Tell me I’m not just imagining, tell me it’s real, _please._ ” He pleads.

He drowns into the green oceans in his eyes, climbing into them, and dances as the sun falls down. Niall breathes out the stone that he’s been caring for months, before he says:

“Of course it’s real, Harry.”

Harry’s fingers are finding their way under his shirt, messaging his bellybutton and twisting his nipple. As an answer the blonde gasps, and before he gets the time to do anything, Harry removes their clothing quickly before his strong arms embraces him.

His body is switched, and his hands are forced to dig themselves into the ground when the taller lad is placed over him. At first it hurts, but then it’s exchanged to pleasure. He doesn’t even bother to tell Harry to take it a bit easier, because he’s too happy to even think about the pain.

The moonlight falls over their naked moving bodies, exposing flesh as the wind blows coldly against their skin. Tiny kisses are ghosting over his ribs, and he moans out words that aren’t even real words into the night when the brunette cum inside of him.

He falls asleep with his nose buried into Harry’s neck, inhaling his scent, as three words is being spoken out loud under the stars as he drifts away to the only place where their love is not forbidden, his dreams.

-

Their affair continues for more than four years. Sneaking out in the middle of nights at the summers, hiding from Anne and Des. When the winters arrive there’s no chance for them to touch each other, so they have to be content with just pecking the other’s cheek when no one sees.

He doesn’t dare to tell Harry that he wants them to be something more, because he already knows that there’s no chance for them to be. They’re always going to be lord and slave, and it doesn’t matter how many wishes he makes, because they’re never going to be fulfilled.

When Anne passes away, Des spends most of his time at the local pub, drinking so much that he forgets his own name. Sometimes it goes a few weeks before he turns up at the house again, just collecting his money to by even more booze.

Niall shouldn’t be as happy as he is, but he’s grateful over that he gets more time to spend with the male. He comforts him when he sorrows his dead mother, and makes love to him when he cries.

It takes him almost a year until he recovers to the same old Harry again, and when the summer comes, he’s placed between his legs under the old oak, resting his head against his chest, as he continues to read him tales about knights and princesses from the past.

He’s happy that he found a lover like Harry, and he knows now for a fact that they were soul mates all along.

 


End file.
